


The Cove: A Reunion

by akalec



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst, Cliffhangers, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/M, Fade to Black, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akalec/pseuds/akalec
Summary: What happens when you need to pretend to hate each other? When love is too much? Two almost lovers meet up at a beach. Is there still enough left of him to love her?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	The Cove: A Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> For context, Oath is an Aasimar/Tiefling (or as I call, celefling) dream druid, and Marcus is a satyr king of the fae, and leader of a nation called the Tristan Concord. This is written from Oath's perspective, who is a high wisdom character and acts as a therapist for the party.
> 
> They were close friends when fighting in a war together, and had feelings they didn't at the time express. Marcus chose to leave Oath in order to join a group that would try to defeat the gods, something Oath didn't agree with but she couldn't stop him on. He absorbed a piece of an entity called the darkness which is now corrupting him and draining his life. Oath left letters for him on a beach they used to sit in together, hoping that it would reach some part of him that wasn't corrupted yet. This is a theoretical scenario if they had met up on the beach where Oath was leaving her letters.

“Why do you still care about me? Why even bother?” 

There was an anger in Marcus’ voice that was clear, but Oath could pick up the genuine questioning behind his statement. The pain that laid beneath the surface. Even with only the moonlight to illuminate them, the pink tiefling could see the dark circles under his eyes. The concerning gauntness of his frame.

Hooves crunching on sand was the only sound as Marcus marched forward. By his expression it was clear that Oath’s troubled gaze wasn’t enough of an answer. His hands gripped her shoulders, and Oath chose to let him push her down, his larger frame consuming her vision.

Closer up, the more minute details were clear. The shadow that was dripping from his skin. The paleness. The hurt in his eyes. The regret. For a single moment he seemed to look at her with a different expression, something conflicted, gone so fast that even the trained eyes of the Druid couldn’t catch its meaning.

Oath reached her hand towards the satyr’s face, only to have it pinned above her head. It seemed even in this weaker looking form, Marcus could easily overpower the small tiefling. This transformation could even be making him stronger. His face flashed again with anger, erasing the softer expression written there a moment ago. Oath could almost swear the shadows that dripped off of Marcus grew darker as well. 

His voice was more forceful this time, more vicious. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you right now? Run this beach red with your blood?” Even faced with this threat directly, Oath could tell he was doing this to get a rise out of her. Almost as if he wanted her to attack him. To give him a reason to be angry.

Oath’s eyes had no anger in them as she looked up at him. They were as clear and silver as the moon, only holding space for love and sadness. “If you need to hate me, that’s alright,” the druid answered with a gentle tone, “I’ll love you even if you hate me. I’ll accept your pain.”

Marcus seemed to be taken aback for a moment, unable to keep hidden the brief flash of shock and pain. Perhaps it was hard to hear words you so desperately believed you didn’t deserve to hear.

Oath gently pulled at her hand to free it. The satyr’s grip tightened, nearly to a painful degree. The celefling did nothing to show her hurt, even as he seemed to scan her face for it, looking for proof that he was a monster. The two spoke without words, and all Oath wanted to say was that he couldn’t push her away.

Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to steel himself for something. When they opened again, his gaze was filled with a hatred that Oath knew the lost king could fake better if he was really trying.

“If you want to accept my hate, so be it.” Marcus’ grip tightened once more, with the added sensation of sharp fey nails digging into her skin. “I’ll make you hate me.”

Without a single moment’s pause, Marcus’ face was crashing against hers. A noise of surprise escaped Oath’s mouth. His kiss was aggressive, but also held a desperation he could never convey through words or expressions. A call to escapism Oath was far too familiar with. A call Oath had used herself far too many times.

The hands that grazed the tiefling’s small frame were rough, desperate, hungry. She was barely allowed time to breathe, to think.

Oath noticed a moment where the grip locking her in place loosened. Marcus’ lips stopped, and he pulled back to scan her features. He was giving her an opportunity to fight, to get away, to tell him off, anything. Marcus was asking her for permission. 

All Oath needed was two words, whispered light enough that they barely carried over to Marcus’ ears mere inches away.

“Hate me.”

If the satyr had been hungry before, he was ravenous now. Oath avoided crying out as sharp claws dug into her skin, creating flashes of red below them of torn fabric and her own blood. When the druid could finally wiggle her hands free, she tangled them up in his mess of hair, feeling what a disheveled mess Marcus’ had let himself become in weeks worth of knots. Oath managed to mostly ignore the way the shadow dripped darker, heavier, and the blood that sometimes came with it.

Marcus kept up his facade of hatred until her blouse was ripped off, leaving Oath’s chest exposed. A cocktail of confusion and concern painted his face for a few seconds, fingers tracing the outline of the tear shape that surrounded the celefling’s heart; a fresh reminder of how easily her life could be stolen away.

Fearing this could ruin the mood permanently, Oath wrapped her arms around the satyr’s neck, pulling him close enough to where he couldn’t look down at her scarring. The druid’s face stretched into a knowing smile. “You’re not the only one who gets in over their head. Now, are you going to show me your real power or not?” Oath was even worse at faking her hate than Marcus was.

That seemed to be enough for the lost king, however, as he continued to use her body in ways that would surely leave bruises for days without magic. Although Oath couldn’t deny that despite being rough, being a fey must give him certain talents to make her feel as she did.

\--

Both lay in the sand, breathless. The guise of anger faded from both of them, seemingly satisfied with their performance enough to justify what just happened. Yet when Marcus went to wrap an arm around the woman laid across his chest, he froze, stopping himself and resting it back onto the ground below. Oath knew why. After all, if he admitted that his was more than getting out his anger, more than just a spur of the moment passion with no feelings, how could he live with himself knowing what he was doing? Knowing how his very existence at this time was bringing pain to the person he just slept with?

Marcus sat up, gently pushing Oath to the side. The druid looked over, peering at his figure silhouetted against the ocean. The weight of the world seemed to lay on the leader’s scarred shoulders. An audible sigh escaped Marcus’ lips, letting his head fall into his hands. Even without seeing his face, Oath could tell the guilt was building up in him about the last hour they just shared. Her heart was suddenly overcome with ache as she questioned her own actions. Should she have stopped him? The idea of being used for sex wasn’t Oath’s favourite, even if she was painfully aware she had done the same to others. Still, how else could she have helped him in that moment? How else could she have kept him from walking away?

Without saying anything, Marcus stood up. He started to turn his head in Oath’s direction, before freezing in place. He didn’t even seem to try and hide how he clenched his fist in frustration over being too cowardly to meet her eyes. What would he hope for? That they were filled with anger? Or love? Maybe he just knew that if he allowed his face to be laid bare to Oath, that those silver eyes would see right through him, to the hollow inside beneath Marcus’ steady frame.

Just as hooved feet began walking away, a small hand reached out and latched onto Marcus’ wrist. If he turned around, he would see Oath, naked, on her knees to scramble forward and reach him in time. Even with her curly hair a disheveled veil around her, claw marks covering her body, in the cove’s gentle moonlight, she looked like an angel. Did he fear that purity?

“Let go of me Oath. I’m not gonna warn you again.” Despite the harsh word choice, there was no anger in Marcus’ tone. Only desperation. A plea for Oath to accept her friend’s martyrdom and walk away while she still could.

“If I let you leave, will I ever see you again?” Unlike Marcus, Oath’s tone held no hurt in it. As if she were asking a question as simple as how someone preferred their coffee.

Marcus seemed to ponder for a second over the question before responding determined, “No.”

“Then I’m not gonna let you go.”

Marcus finally whipped around to face her, releasing his own wrist from her grip. “What do you want me to say Oath? That I’m sorry? That I don’t actually hate you? That I’m in over my head and I’m losing control? You already know those things!” Marcus let his hands fall down in defeat. “There’s nothing I could tell you that would be relevant right now that you don’t already know.”

“Tell me how you really feel about me.” Oath hadn’t even thought of the words before they left her mouth, and even she was caught off guard by the tone of begging they held. Out of the corner of her eye the tiefling could see her piles of notes; dozens of little paper hearts laid in the sand. Was she placing another heart down at his feet to be ignored as she spoke?

Marcus couldn’t hide the pain in his response. “Don’t you already know that?” His eyes met hers clearly, begging her not to make him vocalize his suffering directly. It was only then Oath could truly see how fragile the satyr had become. No matter how strong he tried to build his foundation, Marcus Senecio was a house of cards, fruitlessly trying to rebuild after every gust of wind tore him apart again. 

“I-“ Oath almost stopped herself. The temptation of letting things go unsaid was momentarily overwhelming. She knew better than anyone that it was the easier route by far.

But Oath was also keenly aware that it was that easy route that landed them here.

“I need to hear it. Please. I need you to say it.”

Marcus searched the tiefling’s face. He held her stare a moment longer, clearly conflicted. The satyr let out the breath he was holding, seeming to admit defeat in the face of Oath’s genuine love. Opening his mouth, he began, “Oath-“

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger but this work was made for the time when I didn't know how Marcus felt about Oath. I found out later he feels the same way but things were complicated. Still don't know if they'll actually be together, as we haven't finished that part of the story. Yay! ;-;


End file.
